


Orange

by ceywoozle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plugs, Collars, Established Relationship, M/M, Vibrators, probably the fluffiest piece of porn you'll ever read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 16:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of the one word bottomjohn prompt series.</p><p>sherlock has a day for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orange

Sherlock likes it when things are organised. Not in the flat, of course, but in his mind. Concepts and ideas filed and inventoried. The wider minutiae of every day life tidily squared away and taken care of, or not.

John is one of those details. Has been for years. In the long, hard slog of their early relationship, there had been moments where they weren’t sure they were going to make it. times when they had both had to retreat into their own ways to make it work until they’d figured out a way to communicate.

They didn’t have that problem now, of course. Sure, there were the usual tiffs involving unlabelled containers and who would get the milk, but the important stuff was taken care of. Filed away and inventoried. Ideas and concepts carefully boxed away in their places. They had a system now. It was a good system.

“Purple,” Sherlock would say, stretching sleep-stiff muscles, joints groaning in ways they wouldn’t have done five years ago, and John, blinking away at his side would smile and nod, reaching for the bedside table and searching out the leather collar among the detritus of their love making. Sherlock would put it on, careful not to pinch the sensitive skin on John’s neck. For the rest of the day, wherever they were, John would have to call Sherlock “sir.”

Other days would be “blue.” (The colour of the first toy that Sherlock had ever bought for John, seven and a half years ago.) On blue days, Sherlock would flip John onto his stomach and slowly prepare him just enough to slip a vibrator into him, the one with the remote control and the different settings. All day John would be on edge, aware of the intrusion, aware that at any second Sherlock could flip that switch and turn it on, buzzing and scraping at his nerves, leaving him wired and wretched till the end of the day when Sherlock would finally pull it out of him again and replace it with his tongue and his fingers.

But John’s favourite day, the days he always looks forward to, are the days when there are no cases. When the restlessness of boredom hasn’t yet set in, when the post-cast haze has only just left them and they are filled with nothing more than a gladness for each others presence.

On those days, Sherlock will say “orange,” and John will burrow his face into Sherlock’s sleep-scented skin and smile. Then they will roll out of bed and Sherlock will get dressed and John will not. The doors will be locked, though it’s hardly necessary any more (their friends have all learnt their lessons by now about walking into 221b unannounced) and all day John will be naked, drifting through his routine without a stitch. 

It’s a day filled with random gropings and unexpected hand jobs, of sudden blow jobs and the abrupt feel of lips and tongue and saliva, but also of reassuring touches and the casual grasping of hands, of sensations his flesh is normally protected from by the layers that stand between him and the world. It’s a day without defences, a day that ten years ago John would never have imagined to be possible.


End file.
